Unforgettable (Cloverleigh Farms #5)(55)

It made my chest hurt to hear her talk about being ashamed of what she’d done. “Of course you do. You’re so fucking brave. Do you know that?”

She opened her eyes and laughed a little. “Thanks. Believe it or not, I actually feel brave.”

“Good.” I paused. “So when is this happening?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard back yet. I might not ever hear back, if he’s not interested in meeting me.”

“Would you be okay with that?”

She sighed. “Yes. I would be. I hope I get a different answer, but if that’s the case, I’ll be okay.”

“And still be able to have peace and move on?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” I pulled her closer to me, wrapping her tightly in my embrace. My stomach was still not entirely okay, but this time around, I was determined to remember this wasn’t only about me. In fact, it wasn’t about me at all. This was something she needed to do for herself, and she wasn’t asking me for anything—again.

The least I could do was be there for her this time.

Even if it was from a comfortable distance.





At practice on Wednesday, I worked with Chip Carswell for a solid hour on both his pitching motion and his pick-off throw. He was definitely the most talented pitcher on the team, but there were a few other kids that threw the ball fairly well, and David asked me if I might start working one-on-one with some of them too.

“They’re asking,” he said once practice was over. “And after seeing what you’re doing with Carswell, I know they’d benefit from your lessons on mechanics. We haven’t had a pitching coach really hammer those since my dad retired.”

“Sure,” I said. “I mean, I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be around, but I can work with a few more guys.”

“Some of the parents are calling too, inquiring about private coaching sessions, how much you’d charge and all that.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want their money. If what I’m saying helps them, I’m good with that.”

“Oh, it’ll help. I wish you didn’t have to leave.” He looked out across the field. “Any chance you’d consider staying longer?”

“How much longer?”

“Until the end of the season? Hell, how about permanently? Would you consider moving back home and coaching full-time?”

I laughed. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not? You could even split your time between here and California. Spend winter out there, spring and summer here.”

“I don’t know, David. Kinda seems like something an old man would do—letting the cold weather dictate his life. I’m not ready to be an old man yet.”

He nodded, folded his arms over his chest. “You think you’ll play again?”

I shook my head. “Nah. If it hasn’t come back yet, it’s not going to.”

“So what’s the plan? What are you gonna do for the next fifty years?”

Exhaling, I adjusted my cap and stared out at the field, thinking, Right there is where I stood and struck out nineteen batters in a row. That fence over there in left field is the one my final home run sailed over. Those bleachers were where my sister and my dad and April sat and cheered me on while I stood on the mound staring down the next victim of my fastball.

I did have a lot of good memories here.

But coming back after such a public failure to take a position as a high school assistant coach? It was the opposite of the triumphant return I’d envisioned myself making one day, where I might throw the opening pitch of the season’s first game, sign autographs and baseballs in the stands, shake hands with fans who’d watched my whole career start to finish—the right finish. Coming back after what actually happened would just be embarrassing, wouldn’t it? Instead of returning a hero, I’d return a disgrace.

“Look, just think about it, okay?” David clapped me on the shoulder. “You could do some real good here. I know the majority of these kids won’t even go on to play college ball, but a good coach will give them things they take with them no matter where they end up in life—things they’ll remember forever. And you’ve got something to give, Shaw.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

We started walking toward the parking lot. “I didn’t get a chance to do it today, but if I have the chance, I’ll encourage Chip to take the Clemson scholarship. I think that’s the best place for him,” I said.

David nodded. “I like that for him too.”

We said goodnight, and I drove over to Sadie’s house to bring in the mail and put out her trash and recycling. While I was there, I noticed a box sitting on the floor in the dining room. It was the one from the attic that Sadie had rescued when she moved out of our old house. I’d gone up and gotten it the day I’d painted the bedroom and then forgotten to take it with me.

As expected, it appeared to contain mostly junk I didn’t need or want—championship trophies, some ribbons and medals, old photos, stacks of papers. I hadn’t gone through it yet, but I was ninety-nine percent sure it all belonged in the trash. Shaking my head, I picked up a framed eight by ten photo of me in uniform my first high school season. I’d played varsity, while all my freshmen friends had been stuck on the ninth-grade team. On my face was the cocky smile I’d already perfected. In my hands, a bat and glove. At my side was six-year-old Sadie in pigtails, looking up at me instead of the camera. We were standing in front of the crab apple tree at our old house. I wondered if that tree was still there.